


An Adherence

by BishopDeaconCardinal



Series: A Bad Idea, Probably [5]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23563528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BishopDeaconCardinal/pseuds/BishopDeaconCardinal
Summary: Things of the past come to light and things of the present make themselves known.
Relationships: Doctor Carrington/Deacon (Fallout)
Series: A Bad Idea, Probably [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590382
Comments: 15
Kudos: 26





	An Adherence

The sound the shot glasses make when Deacon sets them on Carrington's desk echoes, pulling Carrington from where he had, apparently, fallen asleep on his desk. 

Carrington rubs at his forehead where he's sure the imprint of the spiral notebook he was just resting on is adorning him like a crown. 

"Deacon." it's a bit whiny, he can acknowledge that. But it's all he's got after being so rudely awoken. 

"Sanjay." 

Carrington rolls his eyes, "Why aren't you with everyone else? Poking away at Fixer's teleporter?" 

"Broken mask." 

The words are like ice water. He hasn't seen Deacon in months prior to the last two weeks. Minimal, even once back. 

He reaches for a shot glass and holds it up to Deacon. He is sure this is a suitable breakfast. Carrington isn't sure what liquor Deacon is pouring into his glass but he hopes it's strong. 

"Ah, I see you figured it out." he downs the shot and looks back at Deacon, waiting for him to report to him on his own history. 

Deacon picks up his shot glass and sniffs at it, "God, this smells like it burns. I did get it from your stash though." 

Carrington shrugs, not rising to the bait of his light thievery, "Yes, but that is rather the point." 

Deacon concedes and takes the shot. He looks like he wants to punch Carrington's desk to express the burn. Carrington would have egged him on normally but he truly was more concerned about whatever Deacon was going to report to him.

Deacon coughs a bit and Carrington finds him offering his canteen on almost autopilot. 

"So," Deacon tries and coughs again before clearing his throat, "So the Broken Mask Incident. Carter. David Carter, sometimes called David Carrington." 

Carrington nods and takes the canteen back, his mouth suddenly dry. 

"We all know about the Broken Mask Incident, but how did you find David? And adopt him?" Carrington could hear the unasked questions bouncing off the asked ones as Deacon spoke. 

"I'm a doctor. He was injured, so I helped him." and he wishes so deeply that it was that simple. 

"He was an early synth. That's not exactly mending broken bones." Deacon wipes his mouth off on the collar of his t-shirt and hands him his water back. 

Carrington makes a noise of partial agreement, "You mend a broken prototype bone in a manner of speaking. You simply use a soldering tool rather than a stimpack. A touch less messy if I'm honest." 

He watches Deacon contemplate this while he helps himself to another shot of the faded label alcohol. 

"How do you weld an arm back on and call him your kid before he goes berserk?" 

Carrington isn't sure how Deacon doesn't understand. "I met David three years before Broken Mask. I fixed him up and-," Carrington stops. This isn't the conversation he wants. He glances at Deacon who looks so expectant for him to continue that he downs his shot before continuing, "He was so fucking scared, Deacon. Even then. Even before a perfect Gen 3 model. He was so scared and confused." 

Deacon nods like he understands. From what Carrington knows of his past, he does. Synths are people wholly and completely. Even if David did...malfunction. 

Carrington reaches for the bottle then sets it back down and instead goes for his canteen. If he has another shot or two, it's possible  _ he _ is going to malfunction.

“You know, I do like when we drink together now. Last time it ended up with you bottoming.”

“ _ Deacon.”  _ he hisses back looking around to make sure they were alone. And of course they were. Deacon was thorough. 

Deacon laughs. Carrington understands he’s trying, in his own stupid way, to lighten the mood. But in list of his least favourite topics, this one hovers around the top. 

“So Sanjay-”

And Carrington has had quite enough of that, “ _ Sean _ .” Somewhere in his head he realises the only things he’s said the past two times he’s spoken are angry variances of Deacon’s name but he’s fucking asking for it. 

And as much as Carrington did, Deacon also seems to recoil at that, “Ok, ok. I get it.” he rolls his eyes before waving his hand around, “So. David.”

Carrington sighs a long pained sound before risking one more shot. It burns like the very memory he was trying to forget. “My mother was a doctor. Her mother was a doctor. And before that her mother was a doctor. You can guess what my expected occupation was to be.”

Deacon snaps his fingers, “I knew you didn’t pull bullets out of me from the kindness of your heart. It's an obligation!”

“I am passionate about being a doctor, but, you fuck, I do also pull bullets out of you because  _ it’s my bloody job. _ ” he pulls his canteen back out and takes another sip. “I became a doctor but I always like mechanical things. I like medical work. I do. But I also attempt at times to have hobbies. I always liked making things.”

Deacon holds eye contact as he moves to push some of Carrington’s things out of the way before fully sitting on his desk. Carrington sighs and waits for him to sit criss cross and get comfortable before continuing. “I found David. He was confused and hurt. So I...took him in. I helped him.”

“And the perfect little father-son relationship fell into your lap.”

Carrington scoots back a little to be in more of a stance to knock him over, “Deacon I am so close to pushing you off my desk that the floor awaits you in anticipation.” 

Deacon smiles, “That was poetic.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“That less so.” Deacon shoves Carrington’s canteen into his hands, having stolen it while climbing on the desk, and Carrington drinks to give himself something to do other than strangle his fellow agent. 

He reaches for the liquor bottle and Deacon holds out his own shot glass. He pours some for Deacon rather than himself and tries to remember what he was saying, “So through helping David heal, it became easier to travel with him under the idea that he was my son. He was younger than me and so very, very naive.” Carrington for just a moment remembers David’s big clear green eyes looking up at him after having had to defend himself against raiders. His arms covered in blood past the elbows and tears tracking through the dirt on his face. He was so scared even then. 

He shakes his head, trying to clear the memory with a physical act. “He told me some people were after him. We rotated through names. Stanley stood out less. Carter, Carrington, what did it matter? We were trying to blend in. It worked mostly.”

Deacon holds up a hand, “Wait, hold on. Carrington isn’t you either?”

And Carrington is so fucking pleased Deacon hadn’t known that. He doesn’t bother answering his question, “There was an accident,” he can hear his own tone growing somber, “David fell from stories up. I was sure he was dead. But when he wasn’t we were all so relieved, but the fall changed him. I-” he clears his throat, “You know the rest.”

Deacon nods, “I do.” he uncrosses his legs and lets them dangle, “Ok. So I know. And is he why you joined the railroad.”

Carrington just nods. He takes a moment to collect himself.

Deacon gently touches Carrington’s jacket, he looks down to follow where his hands are tracing the collar on his lab coat. “How many people know that?”

Carrington thinks, “I believe two people are left that knew how I got here.” 

Deacon finishes tracing his collar and moves to his tie, “Did you help recruit me?”

Carrington stops watching his hands and looks up to Deacon’s face. He hadn’t been expecting to be asked about this side of things. Unlike Deacon, he answers honestly, “Yes.”

“Why?”

Carrington moves to stop Deacon’s hand where it’s touching his chest. He thinks he might just be trying to feel his heartbeat to gage his honesty, “You killed for her. You used to campaign for the opposite for synths and then you killed for her.”

Deacon snatches his hand away where Carrington hadn’t realised he hadn’t let go. “You fucking know?” there’s panic in his expression. Carrington half wants to take his sunglasses off to see the emotions play fully across his face. “Who else knows?”

He touches Deacon’s shoulder in a calming gesture, “No one.” the minimal effort he puts into a bedside manner coming forth as he squeezes that same shoulder a bit, “I promise.”

He moves to let go and Deacon reaches for his hand, “Why?”

“Because, Deacon, none of us particularly had a great start and we are all capable of change.” 

Deacon’s hand holds his own so tightly Carrington briefly worries he might cut off blood flow. He uses his other hand to take off his sunglasses, to see Deacon realise he’s still safe. That’s he’s not going to tell anyone. No matter how much Deacon has pissed him off, Carrington hasn’t ever used that information against him. 

Carrington makes a startled noise when Deacon pulls him down by the front of his lapels and kisses him. Which of all the surprising things Deacon has done of late, that somehow is the most so. 

Logically, to win, Carrington should place a hand on Deacon’s shoulder again but this time push him away. Push Deacon back onto his own desk and wipe his mouth off and pretend this all never happened. 

So he loses and pulls him closer. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-da! It's strange to have such finality with these twos. They probably, as usual, won't let me rest. 
> 
> Talk to me, I'm on twitter and quarantined and I need you to talk to me whatever you're currently passionate about. 
> 
> @BDeCardinal


End file.
